


California Hunting

by onthewaters



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Crossover, Gen, High School
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-13
Updated: 2011-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 08:52:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onthewaters/pseuds/onthewaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Sam's High School Diploma, the brothers Winchester go to California.</p>
            </blockquote>





	California Hunting

**Author's Note:**

> ***
> 
> If you consider posting this work to Goodreads: Please do not do it. These stories are fanfiction, and I don't want them near a site that's primarily for published original fiction.
> 
> While I appreciate that you might enjoy having them on your Goodreads shelves, please respect my wishes.
> 
> Thank you.

In the year 1997, the Stones get a new album out. Black Sabbath get back together, but they don’t release anything until 1998. Dean goes to see Con Air, and yeah, he likes. Nicolas Cage still has it. John finds that he is nose to nose with his younger son and that soon he’ll be looking up at him. Mike Tyson bites an ear and gets suspended. Sam joins into the hunts on a regular basis and doesn’t do badly. Cell phones and hacking are making life easier, hustling pool takes over arcade games and Dean doesn’t get carded too often anymore. Sam doesn’t have a license yet but he knows how to drive and does when father and brother are too injured or tired. Vonnegut brings out Timequake.

John Winchester begins to avoid the state of California.

Dean and Sam don’t notice at first. They’re always on the road, Sam gunning for his straight-A diploma, Dean on the lookout for grown-up entertainment and for his family. John gives the orders, after all, and while Sam has begun questioning them, he’s not yet in all-out rebellion. Not yet. And if the orders take them to Nebraska, Louisiana, Delaware, and Florida, that’s where they go.

Then, in early 1999, comes the day John tells them they’re on their own for the next three months. That’s how long he thinks he’ll take tracking something up in Canada. Get Sam to some school or other, and get that diploma out of the way.

John, who is as usual preoccupied with his own problems, neglects to mention where he wants them to go. Or rather, not to go.

“I haven’t been to California in ages,” says Sam, sixteen and shooting up, showing every sign of growing as wide as he’s tall. Dean, just turned twenty-one, shrugs, calls his baby brother – and he is, he’ll always be – Sasquatch, and finds them a high school that’s used to getting new students all the time and won’t make trouble over Sam’s fragmented school records.

The new school’s Principal is a rather nasty little guy but they’ll deal. Dean’s polite, respectful, says yes sir and no sir. Sam widens his eyes and explains that their mother is dead and their father is on an oil rig in Canada and they leave with the necessary paperwork and a warning to stay out of gang-related PCP incidents. Outside the Principal's office, they share a look at that one, shrug and head off.

Both of them field the questions.

No matter where they go, people always ask where their parents are, or their mother if Dad is with them. It’s the one constant; the motels change, the states change, what stays is the Impala. And the questions.

Questions like: where are your parents? Don’t you have a home to go to? What does your dad do? How’d your mom die? Don’t you have any other family? Sam doesn’t think that he’s ever met someone who didn’t ask.

But hey. It’s how it has always been.

So it’s business as usual. Dean rents them a more-or-less permanent motel room with a fridge and a stove, then goes off to find a job. Construction work; it’s not like he can put hunting on his CV.

Sam goes to school and proceeds to ace whatever there is to ace. Dean uses hammers, and drinks beer with the guys.

Then it all goes to hell.

***

They’ve hunted vampires before. Find the nest, find the vampire, cut off its head. Easy, right?

Not so much.

Around here, they not only have nests. They have entire gated communities in cemeteries complete with rent-a-cops, zoning laws, and matching decorations. Probably, Sam thinks, running beside Dean past yet another crypt, they even had activities, dog-sitters, and nosy neighbors. He can almost imagine the gossip. "Have you heard, Lacrimosa? That young Vlad from four graves down the second lane brought home a redhead for dinner last night. Camilla is so jealous, he'll have to get her at least six jocks to convince her to go steady again."

Sam thinks he might be hysterical. But really, who ever thought of this many vamps in one spot? And why the hell in a cemetery?

Dean slows, looking back. "They stopped chasing, I think."

Sam throws back a look as well, and yeah, pursuit has fallen behind so far as to indicate lack of interest. "Christ, what the hell?"

"I don't know, dude," says Dean, hands on his knees, out of breath. "But that was –"

Which is when the vamp shows up right in front of them. Grinning. Sam reaches back for his machete, sees Dean do the same, and then the vampire's face shifts into a monster visage, ridged and pointy-toothed, and Sam flinches back and Dean curses because what the _fuck_ oh my God that is not a vampire, what is it, how does it die and Sam wants _Dad_ in the worst way ever like, right now. There's movement behind the, the, the _thing_ and it explodes in a shower of ash. Dean jerks his arms up, howling, and Sam stumbles back because ew, icky monster ash and – er. Valley girl?

Yeah. California girl, blonde and uh, tiny, with a wooden stake in her hand right where the monster just was. Sam blinks at her.

She pops her gum at him.

Dean comes up from his crouch slowly. "Is it gone?"

"Yeah," says the valley girl. "Gone with the wind."

The stare at her. Then look at each other. Tiny-ass California girls a foot shorter than Sam with arms like sticks and a sundress don't usually go around killing monsters. Especially not if they look too young to drink and are out after midnight in a graveyard. So. What is she?

"Who are you?" Sam asks.

She pops the gum again. "Buffy Summers. And the cemetery's not safe at night. You should go home." She looks up at him. "You're the new guy in class, aren't you? Willow said you were in Trig 4."

"Uh, yeah, I'm taking Trig. I'm Sam. Sam Winchester. This is my brother Dean."

"Hi." She smiles at Dean. "You're kinda cute."

Dean is – and Sam is not going to let him forget it ever – too disconcerted to turn up the charm because there are about a dozen comebacks to this one and Dean doesn't come up with a single one. "Uh. Thanks. What was that?"

"Vampire," says Buffy. "You know, like Dracula."

They look at each other again. Something is seriously wrong here. But there's nothing for it. They've got to find out.

Dean drags a smile from somewhere and if it looks a little shaky, that just lends verisimilitude and hides Sam's readiness to jump her at the first sign of trouble. "Christo, I thought vampires were just from the movies."

Buffy shrugs. "Sorry." She looks up. "You'd better get out of here." She tilts her head at Sam. "We can talk at lunch tomorrow."

He nods, grabs Dean's arm and they make time back to the Impala. Dean sinks into the driver's seat and puts his hands on the wheel as if it's a lifeline. "Fuck."

Sam lets his head hit the back of the seat. "That was weird."

"Tell me about it. Did you see her? She's, she's not big enough to look over the dashboard! She's not a demon. And she killed that thing with a stake. A stake."

"I know. Do I ever. I mean, what the hell?" Sam fumbles his machete out from under his jacket. "That's not supposed to work."

"We always cut off their heads," Dean says. "Stakes don't work."

"So it's not a vampire," Sam says, trying to find an angle in all this that makes sense. Any sense. "Maybe she just calls it that."

"Maybe. I'll call Pastor Jim in the morning, though. Maybe he's heard something about this." Dean sounds as if he'd take anything.

Sam nods. "And I'll try to find out what's going on tomorrow at lunch. I'll take the silver cross and salt her food."

"Good." Dean starts the car. Then lets the motor idle. Sam looks over to him.

"What?"

Dean stares into the night. "Sammy, we were in a cemetery in the middle of the night, running from monsters. This Buffy Summers didn't even bat an eye."

"Yeah. Weird. And?"

Dean looks at him, that big-brother-look that makes Sam think that he can still see the little kid Sam used to be. And kind of still looks like.

"She didn't ask about our parents once."

***

Lunch turns out to be rather interesting. Buffy picks up the silver cross when Sam drops it, doesn't even notice the extra salt on her mystery meat and accepts the Evian bottle of holy water when Sam spills hers. She introduces him to Willow and Xander who, well, not to put too fine a point on it, are much like comedy duos try to be. One is smart and one is goofy, and Buffy - Buffy acts the way she looks. Except when the conversation shifts to vampires and killing them and then Sam can see, just a little, that this girl who’s just a little older than him is also a hunter.

More. A predator.

Willow and Xander don’t look like they even notice. Makes sense, Sam thinks. While they support Buffy, as far as he can tell from their explanations, they aren’t hunting the way she is.

The whole thing is disconcerting.

He comes home with a host of information that makes no sense, or too much of it. Dean is still at work, so Sam does his homework and makes dinner. Mac-and-cheese because the motel is cheap but not that cheap and Dean refuses to let him work while he works to get his diploma. Dad did the same, and usually added that Dean was old enough and Sam should concentrate on the diploma if he wants it so much. The fact that Dean was working at fourteen, at any job he could, doesn't get mentioned.

Sam doesn't think it's fair. But he doesn't know what to do about it either. Because Dean does what Dad says and Sam doesn't want him to get in trouble because Sam was acting up.

So Sam does what he can to make Dean's life at least a bit easier. He washes dishes, does laundry, cooks because Dean did all this for years, right until twelve-year old Sam found him in tears because the day did not have enough hours for taking care of Sam, school, work, chores, and hunting and he couldn't get it all done and had flunked high school and Dad hadn't noticed because he was hunting and then passed out on the couch. That had been the first time ever that Sam put Dean to bed, not vice versa, and then woken up their father and had a screaming fight in the parking lot.

It hadn't helped all that much.

Sam stirs the mac-and-cheese. In all the explanations about the Slayer, family hadn't featured.

He isn't sure if that makes it better or worse.

***

Dean is, predictably, also weirded out. "So. Let me get this straight. These demon-vampire hybrids are called vampires also, and they get hunted by one girl on the whole planet who is Supergirl with super-strength and super-speed and who gets replaced when she dies and she's called the Slayer. Buffy Summers is the current Slayer and she hangs out with a nerdy girl and a dumb guy and she hunts these vampires. I got that right?"

Sam nods. "She doesn't react to Christo, salt, holy water, or silver. Her friends seem to be, well, nice, and the vampires do drink blood. And form master-minion relationships. Which sounds pretty icky if you ask me."

"Yeah." Dean drinks from the beer bottle, bought finally with an ID that's not fake. "I didn't reach Pastor Jim, but when I do, I'm gonna ask him if he's heard anything of this Slayer thing."

He digs into the mac-and-cheese, says thank you for cooking, as always. Sam wishes for some fresh food and wonders if he should suggest driving a hundred miles down south on the weekend and hustle some pool. Can't do it here in Sunnydale where they might be recognized.

Instead he tells Dean about pretty innocent Willow and goofy Xander and that he's doing fine on his tests. Dean nods and asks questions. He doesn't talk about the construction job. Sam doesn't ask. As soon as he has his diploma or Dad comes back, they're out of here anyway.

It's funny, Sam thinks later, when they're in their motel beds, listening to Dean breathe. He hunts monsters, too, but no matter where he goes, his family is with him. Buffy… she's linked to this place, the Hellmouth. She probably could leave it and be normal. Maybe.

Later, Sam will think that that was the moment when he first realized that he does not have to stay with Dad forever.

***

They compare notes on the Sunnydale vampires and sharpen stakes. Dean manages to reach Pastor Jim and a week later, there's a thick letter in the mail, notes, some crabbily written, some typed, about the Slayer and the Watchers and the things the rest of the world calls vampires.

Dean complains. "Who the hell started this? Why do we have two kinds of monster called vampire? That doesn't make any sense and it's stupid. I can't believe we never ran into this before."

Sam hands him Pastor Jim's letter. "Check this out."

Dean glances at it, then frowns and reads it in detail. "Oh shit."

"Yeah."

Buffy doesn't know anything about hunters because hunters avoid the Slayer like the plague, mainly because of the Watchers who are this peeping-tom organisation in England. These guys apparently get seriously upset at the thought of interference with the Slayer and have been known to shoot first and ask questions later. They also work with witchcraft.

The brothers Winchester hadn't known about the Slayer because John Winchester's concept of need-to-know doesn't match that of anyone else.

Dean leans back. "She can't find out we're hunters." He taps the letter. “Or her Watcher. We need to find out who that is, too. Make sure we stay under his radar. Or hers. God, I hate witches.”

Sam nods. Steels himself. "Do you want to get out of here? I can finish my diploma somewhere else." New school, more transcript trouble, more questions about absent parents, more job search and more money troubles. He tries not to grit his teeth.

It doesn't matter. Dean sees right through him. "No." He picks up the letter again. "Pastor Jim says that unless we threaten people, she won't start hunting us. I'm not running from a high school senior, even if she's Wonder Woman."

Sam feels cramped muscles relax. "We're gonna have to be careful. And we're gonna have to keep an eye on her."

Dean grins. "She's not bad-looking. You could try to score."

Sam bitchfaces at him.

***

In the end, it’s Sam who comes up with a plan, of sorts. It’s not the kind of plan Dad would approve of, but Dad’s not here. Sam keeps acing his classes and occasionally studies at the library when the Slayer and her friends meet the librarian there. Which they do a lot, something that Sam finds more than a little suspicious. There’s got to be a reason why the librarian is so interesting.

The librarian and possible Watcher is named Giles and Sam asks him questions every once in a while. When he demonstrates what is apparently unusually good understanding of the Dewey system, Giles offers him a job. Ten hours a week, shelving. Under the table since the school won’t hire a new assistant after the last one died in a gang-related PCP incident. Fifty bucks per week.

Sam goes back to the motel with butterflies in his stomach and a frisson of excitement running through his limbs. Fifty bucks per week. Fresh fruit and salad, less scrambling to make ends meet. Maybe even meat that’s not in a burger. Turkey and chicken. New trainers. A jacket for Dean that’s not too tight across the shoulders.

Sam forces himself to slow down. No way they can get all of that for fifty bucks a week, but at least a some of it. It’d help, and once they have the clothes, Dean can maybe work fewer hours instead of the twelve he’s usually out. If Dean agrees.

It’s by no means certain. Sam knows exactly what Dad would say about him working, and Dean usually tries not to piss of Dad. Actually, Dean tries to do what Dad would want him to do. Unless he sees no other way out for them. Even then he tries to justify it to prevent an incident. At least, Sam has started calling them that in his head whenever Dad is displeased with whatever Dean did or didn’t do and isn’t shy about showing it.

There have been incidents Sam is sure Dean doesn’t know Sam knows about. And probably a few he doesn’t. Dad’s always put the blame on Dean if Sam acted up, and Sam, well. Once Sam figured it out, he stopped acting up.

But maybe this case is different. This is an opportunity that isn’t going to come along too often. Maybe if he sells it as keeping an eye on the Slayer? With a little added incentive?

***

Dean is surprisingly accepting. “Sure, Sammy, go for it. Maybe the guy really is the Watcher. Then you can check if the guy has any occult books lying around. Maybe there’s more about the Sunnydale vampires in there.”

Sam hands him his sandwich. “He’ll notice if his books go missing.”

Dean makes a face at him. “Copying machines for the win.” He bites off a piece and frowns. “How old is this?”

Sam concentrates on his own sandwich, looking even worse than Dean’s; Dean will never in a million years believe it if he’s got to look at him. “When did you last go shopping?”

Dean frowns and washes down the rest of the - admittedly dry - sandwich with water. Sam eats without enthusiasm. Dean’s ready agreement wasn’t in the plan; all the arguments he saved up are unnecessary, including the one about fresh food. And the one about new sneakers, and the new jacket. He doesn’t finish his sandwich but dumps it in the trash.

When he turns, Dean’s watching him. He looks tired, drained.

“Sammy?”

Sam doesn’t know where to put his hands or where to look. He settles for staring at the floor, at his trainers and the (very small) hole he made in the right one. He doesn’t answer.

Dean gets up and puts on his jacket. Sam startles. “Where are you going?”

“Supermarket.” He picks the list off the fridge.

“Without backup?” Immediately as he says it, Sam wants to bite off his own tongue.

Dean turns, face slack. He probably can’t believe that those words came out of Sam’s mouth, either. “What?”

Sam can feel his face heating, thinking that he can probably die of embarrassment. Right now, in fact.

Dean’s face loses the slackness, twisting first into disbelief, then amusement, then outright laughter. Finally he slides down against the door till his ass hits the floor, laughing soundlessly because he doesn’t get enough air to make noise, just silly gasping sounds.

Sam loves his brother but God, he can be an overreacting asshole.

Sam bitchfaces at him. It only sets him off more.

***

They don’t talk about it anymore, but Sam tells Giles that he’ll take the job. And the ringside seat at the Slayer’s headquarters, but that he doesn’t mention.

Two hours a day is easy work. Sam shelves and stays after hours stealing glimpses and glances at the books about the supernatural. Buffy’s crew gets used to his presence. Xander ribs him - or tries to, he’s a rank amateur - about his minion job. Willow tries to bond over bibliographies and footnotes, something her boyfriend doesn’t seem to take the wrong way. The guy never reacts, at least. Giles starts treating him like part of the inventory, only occasionally starting when Sam calls him Mr. Giles. None of Buffy’s crew do.

Occasionally, a really stuck-up dick shows up and purses his mouth like someone fed him rotten lemons. Sam never manages to catch his name, but Buffy does not like him. The dick knows it, but seems to not know how to deal with it.

Sam figures that running in the other direction would do it.

Buffy herself is the immovable object everything else revolves around. She’s their focus, their lodestone, and the more Sam _accidentally_ is present when Buffy’s crew is, the more their lack of awareness bothers him. Buffy is a California girl, and that’s all they seem to see. But that she’s more, that there’s more to her than her looks and speech pattern and clothes, that seems to escape them completely.

Sam keeps out of their way as much as he can while staying in the library. There’s a lot less information he can get that way, but it’s harder to be there than he originally thought and the more he is in Buffy’s presence, the more uneasy he feels. He tells himself that it’s good strategy, that she can’t know he’s a hunter. Still, the feeling doesn’t go away.

He doesn’t tell Dean about it.

***

The first fifty bucks are paid on time. Giles has to reach up to pat Sam’s shoulder but he does and tells him to be careful walking home at night. And to go straight home. Sam says yes and thank you and goes off.

He doesn’t go straight back to the motel. He goes to the supermarket.

Bread isle, bread that’s still fresh enough not to be on sale. A display of gourmet chocolate, with raspberry filling and creamy consistency. (Sam knows this because he stole a piece of this kind once, and felt guilty about it all day.) Potato chips and gummy worms.

Oranges, apples. Salads. He compares prices and lingers before bright red tomatoes, piled up in a pyramid, still on their green stems. He can smell them, sharp and fresh.

Sam figures nobody has ever been this tempted by vegetables.

He goes back to the motel. Dean isn’t home yet. Sam’s not surprised. There’s been overtime all week and he knows Dean has to make - not friends, but acquaintances of the guys just in case. Dad taught them that, and Sam remembers at least two occasions when it may have saved them from CPS. And one where it saved them from the cops.

He heats up the leftover Spaghetti-Os for himself and sets out a can of Campbells’ vegetable beef soup in the hope that Dean will not complain about the vegetables if he also gets meat. When he’s finished eating, he washes the dishes and sorts through the copies he made of one of the illustrated folios about kinds of demon, making notes on the margins.

When he next looks up, it’s half past eleven.

That is too late, even for going out with the guys. Dean would not go out this late without leaving a note or at least saying where he was going.

Sam calls the cell phone they share. It rings through.

Crap.

He can’t sit here and wait. But Dean has the car.

Very, very much crap.

Sam paces. There are vampires out there who, according to Buffy, don’t limit themselves to the cemeteries, and let’s face it, if there are female vampires out there, Dean’s gonna be the blue plate special. Sam spares a moment to be annoyed that his brother is a chick magnet, then stuffs his feet into his trainers and puts on his jacket.

***

Sunnydale High School is dark and silent save for one set of windows. Sam forces himself to stop at the bathroom. Plan, he can’t do this without a plan. They cannot find out that Sam and Dean are hunters. So he’s got to be convincing as the worried kid brother who’s really harmless despite his size and going for the only help he can think of. He’s got to do it right the first time and he has to do it right now. He checks his reflection. The machete is hidden in the inner pocket Dean sewed into his jacket and doesn’t show. He’s got his knife. He’s set.

Turning, he comes face to face with a man, about as tall as Dean but wider. Serious. And he hadn’t shown up in the mirror.

Sam starts back. “Whoa! Where did you come from?”

“It’s not safe to be out at night,” the guy says. “What are you doing here?”

The words might match a hello-prey-game, but the delivery doesn’t. Sam goes with his instinct. “I was looking for Buffy, and there’s still light in the library.”

The guy looks at him. Really looks, as if he’s trying to find out what Sam’s head looks like on the inside. He nods and takes hold of Sam’s arm. The grip is like a vise and though Sam’s no slouch at getting out of holds, he figures he’ll break his arm before he’ll break this one.

“Then let’s go,” the guy says and Sam’s propelled along the hallways, steps echoing in the empty building.

The swing doors of the library open for them easily and Sam finds himself the center of attention. Buffy, Giles, Willow and boyfriend Oz, Xander, two girls Sam doesn’t know yet. And they all stare.

Giles breaks the silence. “What are you doing here?”

Sam opens his mouth to answer but is beaten to the punch by the guy.

“He was looking for Buffy. I ensured he made it here.” The hand releases him. They guy turns and walks away. Sam is starting to freak.

“Who was that?”

Giles looks pissed. “Someone you had better stay away from.”

Sam swallows. This is not good.

Buffy stands. “You were looking for me?”

Sam nods. “It’s my brother. He didn’t come home. And with the, the vampires -”

Then suddenly he’s in the presence of two predators. One of the two girls he doesn’t know comes to stand next to Buffy. “Where was he last?”

Sam blinks. Buffy smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “This is Faith. She’s also a Slayer. Long story.”

“He was at work. Construction at some kind of mall.”

They nod. “That’s Oakview. Let’s go.”

***

If Buffy alone was scary, Buffy and Faith in combination are terrifying. The vampires are out in force. The Slayers plow through them with an ease Sam would envy if it didn’t scare the shit of out him. They’re fast, they’re strong, their senses pick up movement and activity before Sam’s, they’re ruthless. Unstoppable.

It’d be kind of nice if they were on his side all the time.

The Oakview construction site is a bloodbath. Sam forgets about being the scared kid brother because the Impala is still there and checks out corpses without heads, arms, guts, terror and relief intermingling each time it is not Dean’s body he’s turned over. Buffy and Faith follow, securing the building.

Sam doesn’t find Dean.

He’s still trying to decide whether that is a good or a bad thing when he feels a hand on his shoulder. Buffy has her finger pressed to her lips and points to the left, where the Oakview parking lot is supposed to be built. She motions him to follow. Sam nods and lets her take the lead. Faith circles, ready to ambush. Sam presses himself against the wall as Buffy opens the door. He catches a glimpse of movement outside. So does Buffy but instead of trying to get an advantage of terrain or anything, she walks out cool as anything.

“I’d like to say I like what you’ve done with the place. Except I can’t really.” Sam peeks out and has to agree with her. It doesn’t look good.

The parking lot in spe holds at least a dozen vampires, all with the monster faces on. A cauldron and three trestle tables are set up in some kind of ritual circle, and on each table is one of the construction workers, arms and legs bound to the table with cable ties. The one on the left is Dean.

He’s breathing. But his face is bloody and Sam can see that his knuckles are skinned, indicating that he didn’t go down without a fight. He is also the only one of the three straddled by a vampire. The vampire is licking the blood of Dean’s face. Sam sees Dean shudder and feels an echo down his own spine.

Buffy meanwhile is trading quips and banter with the master vampire. Sam tunes it out and instead maps a route to get to Dean as soon as possible in case this goes south. It’d be better from one of the windows. He switches positions and when he gets another look at the scene, someone has set fire to the cauldron’s contents which burn with a white flame. The vampire straddling Dean has thrown back his head and is howling, his nails digging into Dean’s shoulders. Sam gets ready.

Buffy already is. And she takes the vamps apart.

Sam’s only peripherally aware of the Slayer going to town as he draws the machete. He follows his route to Dean, taking care to smudge the circle’s line as he crosses it. One of the minion vamps bares her teeth at him. Sam feints left, then right, and takes off her head messily from behind as she goes past him. The vampire straddling Dean has bent down and is sucking at him, hand - claws? - digging into Dean's shoulder. He's too close for the blade and so Sam tackles the vampire off his brother. The vamp kicks him off and Sam is thrown against the trestle table which tilts for a moment, making Dean slide half off it, hanging only by the cable ties. Dean turns a scream into a curse and Sam sees the spurt of blood when Dean’s weight pulls too hard on the ties and they dig into his wrists tightly enough to draw blood. But Sam has a vampire to deal with, he can’t help Dean right now. He shifts his grip on the machete.

The vampire hisses at him, his face gory with Dean’s blood and God knows what else. He grins and tuts at Sam.

“Bad idea, little boy. Don’t get between me and my prey.”

Sam feels Dean shift behind him, trying to get free. But he’s all that’s between Dean and the vampire. He wants Dad.

The vampire feints right, then left. Frowns with ridged brows. “Come on, kid. I’ve already started on that one. Once I’ve finished him, you can have your turn.”

Sam doesn’t shift a step. Behind him the battle is raging. He hears the puffing sound of vampires getting staked and figures it’s not going too well for them. He only needs to hold on a little longer.

The vampire bares his teeth. “You want to die so much?” He crouches and Sam knows that this is not a feint. This is preparation.

The vampire jumps him.

Dean shouts, “Duck!”

Before he even thinks about it, Sam hits the ground. The vamp goes flying over him and explodes in a cloud of ash settling all over Dean and Faith. Sam coughs, drops the machete and stumbles forward, pulling Dean back on the trestle table to take the weight off the ties. He jerks his knife at the cable ties at Dean’s ankles. It’s tough going, they’re way too tight and it’s not made any easier by Dean complaining at his lack of speed. Then Dean stops complaining. Sam looks up and his jaw drops.

Faith has straddled Dean much like the vampire did earlier and is leaning down over him to cut the ties at his wrists. Anatomy being what it is, well. Sam sees mainly her ass but he can imagine what Dean is seeing.

Huh.

Then Sam is done and goes to help. Faith has already finished and smiles down at Dean like the predator she is.

“You make a cute damsel in distress,” Faith purrs. Sits up and uh. Undulates on Dean. Sam doesn’t know where to look or what to say because oh God, Dean’s face.

Faith slides off Dean and walks over to Buffy who - Sam hopes - was busy freeing the other construction workers.

Sam helps Dean sit up. The wound on Dean’s wrist doesn’t bleed anymore. Sam checks his neck for more wounds and finds only shallow bites which have also stopped bleeding. Dean leans against him, getting blood on his jacket. “God, Sammy.”

Sam hugs him. The hug turns into holding Dean upright, because shit, that really is a lot of blood and his eyes aren’t tracking all that well.

Then Buffy is by his side, looking Dean over. “You should get him to a hospital.”

Sam hesitates, feeling Dean’s slight headshake against his shoulder. “We better go home.” He widens his eyes. “We - we don’t have insurance, and anyhow, we can’t explain this.” He looks around at the parking lot full of ash and ritual debris.

Buffy shrugs. “How are you going to get home?”

Dean slurs, “Car still out there?”

“Yeah,” says Sam. “I can drive.”

Buffy nods. “If you’re sure. Come by the library tomorrow. Or call.”

Sam nods and helps a stumbling, shaky Dean to the Impala. He spreads their emergency blanket on the backseat and lies Dean down on it, then drives carefully. Dean makes hardly any noise, not even when they arrive and Sam has to carry him into the motel room, then in the bathroom. There he undresses Dean whose clothes are a write-off and takes off his own clothes.

Dean isn’t standing on his own, so Sam manhandles him into the shower to wash out the bites and the wound from the ties with hydrogen peroxide, checks for bumps and finds a rather nasty one behind Dean’s ear. There's something wrong with Dean's shoulder, too. It's swollen and hot to the touch. Sam tries to feel if anything is broken but Dean's scream when he tries makes him stop. Finally, he just washes off the blood and ash until the shower’s floor is mucky and the water begins to run cold.

He pats Dean dry with the hard motel towel and bandages the wounds. He makes Dean drink plenty of water but doesn’t try for food. Instead he puts him to bed with a hot water bottle and ice on the bump and the shoulder.

He bundles up Dean’s ruined clothes and stuffs them into a trash bag to be burned later. His own are fine, but they reek of ash and blood and need to be washed. When he empties out the pockets, he finds the fifty bucks.

They are really going to need it now.

Sam does something he hasn’t done in at least six years. He climbs into bed next to Dean and hangs onto Dean’s arm like he did when he was a kid and small enough for this not to be ridiculous. Dad isn’t here, Dean’s hurt and his job is most likely history, and while Sam thinks he did everything right, he could really do with a little help just about now.

Dean comes through. Even through bloodloss and vagueness, Dean tugs his arm out of Sam’s hold and slides it over him, letting Sam hold onto his hand and forearm.

“‘s okay, Sammy. You did good. ‘s okay.”

Sam holds onto Dean and wonders what is wrong with him that Dean is the one who got hurt and Sam needs to be consoled.

***

Dean is better in the morning, thirsty and hungry, if still a little shaky on his feet. The shoulder has turned all colors of the rainbow and Sam makes an argument for a doctor. Dean overrules him. Sam heats up the can of soup and makes him eat it in bed, and makes him drink as much as he can. Dean doesn’t fight it. He knows bloodloss and only asks Sam to bring back a bottle of Gatorade when he gets back from the library. Sam promises. Dean in turn promises to sleep.

Buffy and her crew ask after Dean and Sam reassures them. He does his shelving and finds himself occasionally included in their banter as if his defense of Dean has made him an honorary Buffy-minion. He ducks his head and says that he’s got to get back to Dean which will get them off his case and has the added advantage of being actually true.

He gets the Gatorade for Dean and some apples and oranges on sale, then finds a cheap piece of marinated steak, remembering Dad’s advice that you should always eat red meat after blood loss. Even if it doesn’t help, it’ll improve Dean’s mood.

Dean’s kept his word. He’s zonked out on the bed, arm dangling limply off the nightstand. Sam puts the groceries away quietly and takes out the trash bag with the bloodied clothes. He watches while they burn and tries to imagine what his life would be like if it wasn’t like this.

Dean’s awake when he gets back but still in bed. Or again, rather, considering that he’s hugging the Gatorade bottle for dear life. But he’s awake, he’s oriented and he’s smiling at Sam.

He eats the steak without complaint and thanks Sam for both thinking of it and making it. He doesn’t even make a face at the fruit Sam plunks down on his nightstand.

“So.”

Sam frowns at him. “So?”

“So who was that chick?”

Right. Sam pretends to be unconcerned. “Oh, that was Faith.” He waits a beat. “The second Slayer.”

“They breeding now?”

“I didn’t ask. But she saved your life.”

Dean shakes his head. “If anyone did, it was you.”

Sam shrugs and tells himself that the warmth in his stomach is left from burning Dean’s clothes and not from praise. When he looks up, Dean smiles.

“Sam. Thank you.”

Sam ducks his head.

Dean leans back, chick flick moment apparently done with. “So tell me what happened.”

Sam does, leaving out nothing. And since he’s at it, he also tells Dean just how uneasy he feels around the Slayers. Dean, as expected, didn’t feel like that. But he takes it seriously. As a heart attack.

“Sam.” Oh, that’s bad. That’s the _I am not angry, but you need to tell me the truth_ voice. “This is a bit above our pay grade. Do you want to find another high school somewhere else?”

Sam knows what Dean is really offering here. _If this is what you need, I’ll make it happen. If you need it, it doesn’t matter how sick or hurt or tired I am. Because I will. I will fight another high school about your transcripts. I will hustle pool for weeks to get the money. I will cover our tracks and find work. Because my job is to take care of you._

Sam knows something else, too. If it had been Sam who got used as a vampire chewtoy, Dean would not be asking. He’d be doing all that right now.

Dean looks at him. Waiting. Sam closes his eyes.

“No.”

When he opens them again, Dean still doesn’t look mad. But curious which is more dangerous by far.

“Okay. Why?”

Sam sits down on the foot of Dean’s bed, hands playing with his shirttails. “You gonna buy that I don’t know?”

Dean grins. “No. Spill.”

Sam braces himself. This isn’t as bad as it would be with Dad but he still doesn’t know how Dean’ll react.

“I just want to be normal. Just for a while.”

Dean’s mouth twitches. “You kinda picked the wrong place for that.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “I know. But. It’s almost May. Graduation isn’t even two months off. Changing now isn’t going to be possible, so I’d have to wait a year. Can you imagine what Dad would say?”

Dean grimaces. He snags an orange from the nightstand and peels it as if the continued existence of sex depends on this orange getting peeled. Sam thinks Dean doesn’t want to look at him. He waits.

Finally Dean has the peel and all the white stuff in a little pile on the nightstand. When he speaks, it’s soft. “Dad wouldn’t blame you.”

 _No_ , Sam thinks, crystal clear. _He’d blame you._ He shrugs. “Does it matter? He’ll be angry that he’ll have to go through the whole school thing for another year. And I don’t want to lose the year anyway.”

Dean nods. Eases out a wedge of orange and hands it to Sam. “Okay. We'll get through this together.”

Sam thinks that nobody ever had a better brother that he does.

***

They manage. Somehow. Sam studies for the last few tests, Dean talks to the other two vampire victims. They get their stories straight (at which point Sam finally understands all the references to gang-related PCP) and demand compensation pay from the company. To Sam’s eternal surprise, they even get something: paid sick leave for a month and the guarantee of work at a different site.

It’s a gift from heaven. Dean can take time to recover and actually go to a doctor. It turns out the shoulder got dislocated and was bleeding badly internally. Sam gets to drive again after the doc puts it back in its socket and straps Dean's arm to his torso with dire threats to not move it and come back in two weeks.

Dean spends two days moving as little as possible as the bruises darken and uses up a lot of ice. Then he decides he'd better learn ambidextery and takes over cooking and cleaning duties from Sam. Which Sam needs, as it turns out. His ten hours a week shelving are eating into study time, and coming home to cooked meals, even meals cooked by Dean, is a nice experience. Dean taking over without comment and even making vegetable-heavy stuff is even better.

Sam studies, Dean tries not to bug him. Sam reads textbooks, Dean reads car magazines. Occasionally, they fall back into trying to get the other to lose his cool, and if Dean does it only when Sam is in danger of panicking, well, Sam won’t complain. Especially since Dean comes up with a few good ones.

“Say, Sam.”

“Hm?”

“If a vampire explodes in the forest, and nobody is there, does it make a sound?”

Cue bitchface.

Later.

“Sammy?”

“What.”

“What’s your favorite food?”

“What?”

“Sammich.”

Cue the _I don’t even know this person_ face.

Later still.

“Sam, I’ve been thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Hey, good one. But really. In a throw-down fight between Buffy and Dad, who wins?”

Sam finally looks up. Dean smiles at him sunnily.

“Buffy,” Sam finally says, thinking of the speed and strength he got to witness and the fact that he always feels like prey when he’s in the same room as Buffy. “But Dad’d cheat to win.”

Dean grins at him. But for his birthday, he gets Sam a t-shirt with “Cheat to Win”.

***

Graduation is imminent. Sam has gotten most of his grades and figures that he should be fine, despite all the transcripts, the vampirical incidents and the rest. He’s almost done. The prom goes off without a hitch, though Buffy was late and Sam wonders about it. But he claps along with everybody else when she gets her award.

Then a meeting of the entire senior class is called by Buffy. Sam’s sort of confused but goes along.

He gets back late. Dean is parked on his bed, his hair still wet from the shower which means that he felt fine enough to get some exercise. Sam registers it without comment. He’s numb.

“Hey,” says Dean. “Overtime at the library?”

Sam drops his bag. Closes the door behind himself. Runs a hand through his hair. “You know how we thought we were hunters? We suck ass.”

Dean blinks. “What?”

One explanation later, he is seriously impressed. Large-scale mayhem is not just for the movies, in Dean’s mind. Sam kind of figures all the other students are warning their families away. Not him. Dean's going to be right there.

***

They do it. Not without casualties, but they do it.

Dean, in the last few days, has checked them out of their motel, said goodbye to the guys from the construction site and quit his job. The Impala is packed and ready, nothing in the motel room remains to show that they were ever there.

Sam gets to finally use his stake on a few of the vampires and considers it exercise. Turns out you need less strength and more aim than with the machete. The whole thing is chaos and killing, and in the end, they blow up the school. Sam thinks he’s failed at normal spectacularly in this case, but God, it’s worth it to be able to say that he once blew up a school. After he got his reports and diploma from the secretary of course. After all, that had been the entire point.

It's made even better by knowing that Dean is right beside him.

When Sam gets back from saying goodbye to Buffy and the others, Dean’s playing hair metal and drumming on the steering wheel. He opens his eyes when Sam gets in the car, ash in his hair, and a couple of bruises on his hands and face.

“You good?”

Sam nods. “Yeah. The Mayor turned into a giant snake.”

Dean shakes his head at the stupidity. “That never helps.”

Sam laughs.

“You done here?” Dean asks.

Sam thinks about it. “Yeah. I’m good. Let’s go.”

Dean floors it.

 

~Fin~


End file.
